We Both Go Down Together
by Sally-Walking
Summary: They did the job they shouldn't have had to do, and, in many cases, they died doing it. The story of Robert Stratford, Benjamin Guggenheim's quiet valet, and his unusual relationship with the irreverent and rash Elizabeth Howard, a stewardess onboard the Ship of Dreams.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, honestly. Please, don't sue me.**

**Note: Robert is named after the otter mascot of The Fur Museum. He is a truly exemplary otter; compassionate, attentive, and sadly, dead.**

**Dedication: This story is dedicated to those who did the jobs they shouldn't have had to do, with dignity and amazing bravery, and never even got a single line in the film...**

_The elaborately designed candlestick that stood on the shelf was askew; it's elegantly curving base at a slightly odd angle to that of its twin. There was something faintly symbolic about it, Robert thought, reaching out to push it back into line, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out what. As he touched it, a drop of wax rolled down and hit his thumb and he was faintly surprised by how hot it was. _

_Robert stood back and surveyed the room. He was pleased that the ornamental vases hadn't fallen when the ship had crunched into…well, never mind that. But the vases hadn't smashed, and the brightly coloured flowers that they were filled them were still as fresh and beautiful as they had been when Elizabeth had placed them there._

_If he closed his eyes, he could still see her pale hands moving between the blooms, arranging them with more care than he'd ever seen her put into anything. What was her favorite flower? He'd never thought to ask, and he supposed it was too late._

_"Stratford!"_

_The voice jerked Robert from the small and futile pool of misery and self-pity that he had sunk into. It was the voice that called him to duty, the voice that he knew he had to follow. Elizabeth had never been able to understand that, either. You're a paid worker, just like me, aren't you? She'd asked him that again and again. The White Star Line pays my wages, same as Mr. Guggenheim pays yours, but you don't see me going on about 'loyalty' and 'duty', do you? Robert? Robert?_

_No, Elizabeth, you _still_ don't understand._

_Robert stared for a moment at his reflection in the large mirror over the mantelpiece. Well, the suit looked neat and clean at any rate, but given the choice he would never have chosen it to be the one he died in. That wasn't his decision, though. Mr. Guggenheim had said himself how it was important to keep up appearances until the end, and Robert wasn't about to argue the issue._

_"Coming, sir," he said, turning and walking out of the door. _

_How did we come to this? _

_How could this have happened?_

Elizabeth Howard was feeling rather let down, by life in general. Common sense, and everything she'd ever learned from novels, dictated that when one is about to board a very grand ship, heading for America, no less, one should step out of an expensive automobile and look up from underneath some odd looking, yet unquestionably stylish hat with your pale but dignified face.

And though the type of novel which usually dealt with beautiful and tragic young ladies in fancy hats were the sort that Elizabeth, wearing her most cynical frown, would habitually toss straight into the scrap heap, she wasn't about to knock tradition.

Well, she'd got the automobile bit right (except that it wasn't actually _her_ automobile, and,_ all right_, it was really just a cab) but after that, things had gone downhill. She'd thrust her cab fare into the cabbie's fist, grabbed her carpet bag and pushed hard on the cab's door.

Which was stuck.

"Jesus," she muttered, throwing her weight against it "Open, can't you?"

_Would it have hurt to let me have one moment of glamor, Lord? Just one? It's not asking a lot, is it? Just for once not to be a face in the background?_

The cabbie appeared to be watching her troubles with a look of amusement, clearly deriving a fair amount of enjoyment from the spectacle of a young lady, primly dressed in the uniform of a White Star Line Stewardess wrestling with a cab door.

_Pestiferous wretch,_ Elizabeth thought nastily, using the extent of her vocabulary.

_I'm going to be late. They're going to sack me before we even leave Southampton. I'll be back on the train to Northern Wales by two o'clock. It'll be _raining.

This prospect was so ghastly to her, that it provided her with new strength born of desperation, and the door flew open, causing the cab driver to burst into applause. To Elizabeth's horror, there came a _thwack _as the door slammed into the back of a gentleman who had, innocently, been standing nearby.

He turned around, startled and rubbing his shoulder in apparent bewilderment, and for a moment they stared at each other. Elizabeth, frozen in her seat with her light blonde hair already falling out of its neat bun and her face red from exertion noticed in a disconnected fashion that the man she had involuntarily but violently assaulted was young and faintly foreign looking.

Should she apologize? It would be the polite thing to do, but politeness had never really been Elizabeth's forte. Anyway, that might lead to unnecessary explanations, which she cringed to think about.

The man opened his mouth to say something, but Elizabeth wasn't about to hear it. Jolted into action, she turned and kicked the other door open, jumping out on the other side so that the cab was between them.

Elizabeth's mother had always been fond of saying 'You can't run from your troubles.', but her daughter wasn't going to go without trying.

Elizabeth's face burned with embarrassment as she hurried off through the crowded docks, straightening her decidedly _un_fashionable hat and dragging her carpet bag along with her.

_In The Play of Life,_ she thought gloomily, _I'm not even an understudy. I'm probably the one who brings the actors and actresses their tea. I can't even get out of a cab without making a spectacle of myself._

Robert stared after the young lady as she ran off, wondering why she seemed so flustered. It had been nobody's fault but his that he'd gotten hit by the door, after all.

_A valet is always respectful to ladies. _One of the many rules that had been drilled into him by his father.

He could even remember standing in front of his father's desk, tonelessly repeating the words over and over again. A shy child who prefers to go unnoticed by most adults soon learns that if you follow the rules, people leave you alone to your thoughts.

Well, maybe Robert should have followed that one more religiously, instead of staring at the poor girl like a halfwit.

He should have been paying more attention in the first place, instead of marveling at the sheer size of the Titanic, and trying nervously to remember if he'd ever gotten sea sick before.

"Are you coming, Stratford?" Mr. Guggenheim asked with a touch of impatience, already several steps ahead of his valet.

Robert blinked and nodded distractedly, quickening his pace until he was level with his employer "The baggage is already onboard, sir. Are we waiting for Madame Aubert, sir, or has she boarded already?" he asked, raising his normally quiet voice slightly so that it could be heard above the noisy crowd.

And he was slightly gratified to hear the infinitesimal pause before Mr. Guggenheim answered.

"She boarded earlier."

Robert's father's words ran through his head for what felt like the fiftieth time since Madame Aubert had appeared in his employer's life_. A valet must always be discreet._

_Yes, dad._

"Yes, sir," Robert said, motioning to the nearest boarding ramp "If I may suggest that we board as soon as possible, sir? I believe that the ship will depart shortly and it will be imperative that we present our tickets on time."


	2. Chapter 2

**Note: I just want to thank those who reviewed and favorited this story. I hope you continue to enjoy it, and tell me what you think. Your reviews made me very happy.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing at all. Though Robert, Anna and Elizabeth's personalities were invented, they are composite characters of real people. The song Elizabeth sings is a lyrical version of a seventeenth century poem, called "Comin' Thro' the Rye".**

_The empty corridor swam before Robert's eyes as he followed Mr. Guggenheim down it, the colours swirling together in a mess of light and shadow. He kept seeing them; faces of people who had walked this way before, both happy and sad, but always full of life. _

_Henry, staggering under a stack of blankets and his teeth clenched against the stream of obscenities he wanted to spit out as he tripped and stumbled along. Was Henry dead? Quite possibly, but please, God, let it have been quick._

_Anna, her red curls bouncing around her flushed cheeks as she giggled and whispered with her friends. They would all have gotten onto the lifeboats, surely. Surely._

_Elizabeth herself, her irreverent grin in place as she trailed her fingertips against the creamy wall paper. _

_Was she-? No, don't think about that; you'll go mad. _

_Hum, Robert, hum to keep the ghosts away. You'll join them soon enough._

_Gina body meet a body Comin' thro' the rye, Gin a body kiss a body, Need a body cry?_

"Comin' thro' the rye, poor body," Elizabeth sang, turning down the soft sheets as crisply as she could "She draigl't her petticoatie/Comin' thro' the rye!"

The Rye Song had been one that she had been sung many times by her mother, when she'd been a little girl and now, so far away from home, it gave her a comfortable and familiar feeling.

However, not everyone shared her views on the song...

"Stop it, Bessie!" her fellow stewardess, Anna hissed, shifting the stack of linen in her arms slightly so that she could glare at her musical colleague "Passengers might hear you."

The two of them had met shortly after Elizabeth, still a little flushed from her embarrassing adventure in the docks, had hurriedly boarded and been shown to the cabin she would share with three other women. During their first conversation, Elizabeth, judging the other girl unfairly perhaps, had decided that though Anna appeared to be the gossipy, delicate sort, who's company she usually avoided, it would be useful to have a friend onboard.

_Oh, well._

Elizabeth straightened up, punching the large, feather stuffed pillows a few times for good measure and then turning to grin at Anna.

"Then they'll applaud my marvelous singing, won't they?" she said, trying to put a bit more cockiness into her voice just to annoy the girl "Anyway, they're all up on their promenade decks, admiring the charming view."

Most of the first class passengers had indeed chosen to spend the morning strolling along the sunny deck, or sitting the cafe sipping tea and making small talk. This gave the stewards and stewardesses ample time to tidy their richly decorated rooms.

Anna sighed, but chose not to pursue the point, instead laying her burden down gently on a chair and moving to help Elizabeth put a new sheet on the next bed. The sweet smelling white cloth floated through the air as they pulled it up and over, and Elizabeth was reminded once more of her childhood, when she and her younger sister would curl up on the bed they shared, and let their mother tuck them in.

She felt a pang of homesickness in her heart as she remembered this, and frowned to herself. _This is ridiculous, _she thought, _I spent the last five years moaning about how I couldn't wait to get out of that damp, dreary village. I practically jumped for joy when I got this job, thinking happily about how I'd never have to look at a sheep again for the rest of my life. _

She tucked the sheets down a little more quickly than maybe she should have, and stepped back hastily to tidy a stack of books on a nearby shelf.

"It doesn't even make sense, that song," Anna said after a few few minutes of work "It's all nonsense."

"It's all poetry," Elizabeth corrected, now examining the mantelpiece with a critical look in her eyes "Often, there's not much difference between the two. Here, pass me that ghastly vase, will you? I suppose I'd better stick a few fresh flowers in it, if only to distract the eye from that hideous pattern..."

"Don't let your hero, Mr. Andrews hear you say that," Anna advised, raising her eyebrows and passing the vase in question delicately "He probably picked it himself, poor man."

They had been introduced to Mr. Thomas Andrews shortly after boarding, and Anna and the rest of the crew had found Elizabeth's monopolization of the conversation and her many avid questions extremely amusing.

"Rubbish," Elizabeth said, briskly, still smarting slightly over the many taunts she had endured all through breakfast "Mr. Andrews is a gentleman of high taste and refinement. Whereas, whoever bought this thing was clearly either blind or insane."

Anna, knowing better thanb to argue, rolled her eyes and headed into the next room to ensure that there were enough fresh towels in the bathroom. Her exclamations of surprise over how many towels had been used, though rather muffled, none the less made Elizabeth laugh.

She held the vase in one hand and began arranging a selection of scarlet carnations and dawn tinted roses in it, admiring the way that the colours complimented each other. Dawn colours, she decided, were by far the prettiest.

_Ah well, since I'm alone_, Elizabeth thought, as she rotated the vase this way and that so as to see it from all angles known to man.

"Gin a body kiss a body/The thing's a body's-"

"That's very beautiful, miss."

_What?_

Robert had been walking along the corridor on the way to the gymnasium, and had been pleasantly surprised by the melody issuing from Mr. Guggenheim's room. Upon going to investigate, he'd been even more surprised, but maybe less pleasantly so, to see that the singer was the girl he'd encountered the day before, in the docks.

The vase slipped from Elizabeth's startled fingers and smashed into shimmering multi coloured shards at her feet. The flowers very nearly went the same way (without the smashing, evidently) but she managed to keep hold of them as she spun around and found herself face to face with foreign looking gentleman she'd bashed the previous day.

_God help me, he's a passenger, _she thought, already feeling a blush creep up her cheeks.

She looked from him, to the nigh on irreparably broken vase, then back. Already, she could see the dollars flying out of her relatively small wage; she'd have to pay for the dratted thing, of course.

"Damn and blast," Elizabeth swore, deciding that she couldn't possibly make the situation any worse by a touch of blasphemy. In the spirit of doing the job properly, she stamped her foot for good measure, and instantly regretted it, as she heard glass crunch into powder under her heel.

Robert blinked in surprise, having never heard a young woman swear before in his life. He'd never seen one stamp her foot before for that matter, and had previously thought it an action reserved only for the stage.

"I'm-I'm sorry I startled you, miss," he said, weakly, and he was too "I only wanted to congratulate you on your singing."

Elizabeth glared at him darkly, the words: _And you should be, you oaf, _teetering dangerously on the tip of her tongue. But she _was_ an employee of the White Star Line, and when her duties had been outlined, a lot of emphasis had been out upon politeness to passengers.

"Thank you," she muttered at last, rubbing her nose inelegantly on her starched white sleeve. She wondered if she should apologize for hitting him, but then again, maybe he had forgotten the whole business, and would be annoyed to have it brought up again.

Robert also strove for something to say; his limited experience of talking to ladies hindering him slightly. Could he remark upon the fine weather? No, she'd think he was an idiot.

Both of them were saved from further awkward silences by an unexpected interruption.

"I heard a crash," Anna said, anxiously sticking her head through the bathroom door "Have you broken …something…" She let the sentence trail off as she stared at the scene before her and Robert saw her eyes move from him, to her friend, to the vase and her mouth fall open unflatteringly.

_A valet must exhibit gallantry at all times._

"I apologize most sincerely for disturbing you, miss," Robert said quickly "I just returned to my employer, Mr. Guggenheim's rooms to fetch a pair of evening gloves. Unfortunately I was clumsy enough to break this, um, charming vase."

Now, it was Elizabeth turn to stare at him, her mouth open and her brown eyes questioning and surprised.

_What's he playing at?_ she wondered.

Anna, who was no fool, could see that the spider web of shattered glass was much closer to her fellow stewardess' feet than the gentleman's but was not about to argue with anyone who was connected to Benjamin Guggenheim.

"That's quite all right, sir," she mumbled, stooping over to tidy up the mess and vowing to question Elizabeth thouroughly about the whole matter later.

Robert felt guilty at causing her extra work, but could hardly get down on his knees and offer to do it for her. Gallantry could, after all, only be taken to a certain extent.

"Good day, ladies," he said, nodding to both of them and managing a polite smile. He opened his mouth to say something else, then shut it again, shaking his head slightly and hurrying out the door. Well, he'd done her a favor, and they were even now. Mr. Guggenheim wouldn't be happy about it, but Robert was prepared to deal with that.

There were a few moments of silence after his departure, as both of the girls ran the whole conversation through in their heads. Then-

"He didn't get the gloves," Anna noted, wincing as a shard of glass sliced the pale flesh of her thumb and allowing a drop of crimson blood to roll across her palm.

Her friend, who had been lost in thought, considering the unfathomable mysteries of the male mind, looked up at her remark.

"Hmm? Gloves? Oh yes, his _gloves_," Elizabeth muttered, sarcasm creeping into her voice as she considered this. She picked up a pair of fancy looking evening gloves from the dresser and tucked them into her pocket "Tell you what, I'll go after him and bring him these."

_And ask him a few questions too_, she thought, _And blast it, but I suppose I ought to thank him again._

"Be quick about it, though," Anna cautioned, but before she'd even finished the sentence Elizabeth was gone, and her rapid footsteps were already receding into the distance.

Anna sighed and bent to her work, secretly slightly pleased that she could get on with things undisturbed and unimpeded.

**Note: In case you are wondering who Henry is, he will appear soon enough; I just didn't have room to fit him in here**


	3. Chapter 3

**Note: This chapter is a bit longer. Please review if you like it or even if you don't.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

_Robert let his fingers trail on the curved railings of the grand staircase, feeling like he was eight years old again. He'd counted the steps, the first time he'd walked down them, and then promptly forgotten how many there were. It seemed like a stupid, pointless bit of information now._

_ The clock was still working too, which surprised him. The intricately carved hands still ticking their way slowly around the clock face, and oddly, they drew Robert's thoughts once again back to Elizabeth._

_Time. We should have had more time._

_There was so much they'd never talked about; so much he should have found out about her life. _

_But. There. Was. No. More. Time._

"Hey! Wait!"

Robert looked over his shoulder and saw, to his mild surprise, the blonde stewardess tearing along the hall after him, her long skirts whipping around her legs and her cheeks flushed from her running.

A little confused, he stopped and waited for her, leaning against a cream coloured corridor wall and running a hand through his dark hair in an attempt to smooth it down a little.

_A valet must always be neat and orderly; both outwardly and inwardly._

Well, that advice would be useful to this girl, at any rate, he thought, slightly nastily. Her hair, though pinned back in the correct fashion, seemed to be doing its best to curl itself into the shape of a bird's nest, reminding him of a picture he had once seen of Medusa and her snakes. And though her clothes were obviously new, they were as rumpled and creased as if she had been wearing them for a week. There was even what looked like a brown soup stain on her left sleeve, and Robert eyed it with the critical, assessing stare born of eight years in service.

The girl thumped to a stop beside him, tripping a little over her own feet as she did so and muttering a few words that Robert, thankfully, didn't hear clearly.

She was, apparently, aware of his scrutiny…

"Had your eyeful yet?" she asked, in an annoyed tone of voice and her hands sternly on her hips.

Robert flinched back slightly from the heat of her glare, a little wounded by her words. As if he'd ever- well, _he wouldn't_.

"Salt," he blurted out, before he could stop himself.

Her frown deepened, a little groove appearing between her eye brows.

"What?"

Robert felt himself start to redden in embarrassment, as he realized that she must think that he was mad.

"To get the stain out," he said, gesturing to her sleeve "You've got to rub it with salt. Er, it's a trick my grandmother taught me..."

He trailed off realizing that he was starting to babble, but the girl's expression had softened at his explanation, and she smiled at him_. She really has a very nice smile_, Robert thought, blinking. _Her whole face just...lights up._

"Thanks," she said, sounding genuinely grateful "I was terrified that someone would notice it and get me in trouble. I've been walking around with my hands clasped behind my back all morning to try and hide the blasted thing."

Robert laughed at this, and was surprised by how natural it felt. The tension that had been in the air had all but disappeared, and he was very glad that it had. Still, he couldn't imagine this girl being terrified of anything, let alone getting in trouble…

"I have a knack for spotting stains," he said, grinning "Which comes in handy. I'm Robert, by the way. Robert Stratford."

"Elizabeth Howard, stewardess and vase-breaker onboard the good ship Titanic," she replied, mock saluting "Pleasure to make your acquaintance Robert," she paused for a moment before going on "And listen, I'm sorry for banging you with that door yesterday."

"It's fine," Robert said, wincing as he thought about the ten inch long mottled purple bruise that he had discovered between his shoulder blades afterwards "And I'm sorry for making you drop that vase. There, we're even."

"No, but you're going to pay for it, so that doesn't count. I still owe you one."

Something about that sentence made Robert feel decidedly uncomfortable and oddly elated at the same time, and he tried to brush the feeling away.

"You can make it up to me later," he said, doing his best to shrug off the debt.

"Fine," Elizabeth said, raising her hands in a gesture of defeat "Anyway, I came to thank you for taking the blame and…" she paused as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of now slightly crumpled silk gloves which she thrust into Robert's hand "To bring you these."

Robert stared blankly at the gloves for a minute or two, before he remembered the story he had hastily made up to explain his entry into the state rooms.

"Oh-um- yes," he said, weakly "Thank you."

Elizabeth burst out laughing; not the refined tittering Robert was used to hearing from ladies like Mme. Aubert, but a proper, loud guffaw of amusement.

"I knew it!" she chortled, clutching her sides as her shoulders shook with mirth "I knew you were lying! Why were you there, then?"

Robert, who hadn't found it _that_ funny, raised his eyebrows at her until she managed to straighten up and regain her composure.

"A-_hem_. I heard you singing and wanted to see who it was," he explained "I liked the song."

"Oh, that? That's just The Rye Song. I'll teach it to you sometime."

Robert wondered if that meant that she intended to talk to him again, and found himself hoping very much that this was the case.

"Well," Elizabeth said, after a moment of silence "I'd best get back to work. I suppose I'll see you about."

"Er, right," Robert said, feeling a little disappointed "Um, goodbye."

They stared at each other for a minute or two, both seemingly debating whether or not to say more. Finally, Elizabeth shook herself and turned to go.

"Good bye, Robert," she said, over her shoulder "It was nice meeting you."

As she stepped away from him, presumably to rejoin her redheaded friend, Robert saw a piece of white paper, bearing a typed heading, lying on the floor where she had been standing, and he bent to pick it up.

"Hello," Elizabeth heard Robert say, behind her "What's this?"

_Oh no. It's one of The Pamphlets. He's found it. It must've slipped out of my pocket when I took those gloves out, and he's found it. Damn, damn, damn, damn._

She turned around and saw to her horror that he'd picked it up off the floor and was staring at the title with a frown.

"It's mine!' Elizabeth said, snatching the pamphlet away from him, but she knew that he'd have had time to read what it said on the front.

_The Vote: A Woman's Right._

And directly underneath, a picture of a ballot box.

"Yours?" he repeated, looking at her with that same, puzzled frown.

Elizabeth pressed the Woman's Rights pamphlet to her chest, staring at Robert with as much defiance as she could muster.

"Yes, mine,' she said, forcefully "Women ought to have a say in how their country is governed! We're as capable of rational thought and intelligence as men, and often more so!' She remembered her audience and added "Present company excluded, of course."

Elizabeth waited for Robert to comment, realizing that she couldn't stand the idea of him, especially, dismissing the cause she was so devoted to. Which was ridiculous, she told herself. They'd only just met, and their relationship consisted above all of her making a fool of herself…

Why should it matter to her what he thought?

But it did, and nothing could have prepared her for what his response.

"I agree. I agree, completely."

Elizabeth felt her mouth fall open as she gawped in surprise at her new friend. Was he making fun of her?

"You-you do?" she said, a tad lamely.

'Yes," he said, simply "I do. It seems to me that it's ridiculous not to give women the vote. You're human beings, too. And, as you so eloquently said, capable of at least as much intelligence as us."

"You really thi-" Elizabeth began, but was cut off by a most unwelcome interruption.

"Hey, Elizabeth! Stop spooning and come help me carry these blankets, will you?"

Elizabeth wheeled around to see Henry, a steward she had eaten breakfast with, earlier that day, stagger past, carrying an enormous heap of linens. Behind her, Robert began to protest, but she shook her head, grinning.

"Look," she hissed "Tomorrow morning, come down and meet me in the crew's quarters, all right? We can talk more there."

He nodded, apparently still smarting from the 'spooning' remark.

You couldn't help liking someone as stiff and gentlemanly as that, could you?

Elizabeth gave him a wink, then hurried off to help Henry before he collapsed under the weight of his burden.

"God help us, Henry, but you'll pay for that little comment you will. Me and who's army, you say? The cheek! Well, just you wait and see, mate…"


	4. Chapter 4

**_Note: This is a very much longer chapter, but I hope you like it and review._**

**_Disclaimer: I still, unsurprisingly, own nothing_**

_No, we are dressed in our best and are prepared to go down like gentlemen._

_What a stupid thing to say. Did you ever think to ask me whether or not I thought that this was a good idea? I could have used that life jacket, thank you very much._

_Robert felt guilty for thinking such disloyal thoughts, as he followed Mr. Guggenheim across the large, decadent room._

"_But we would like a brandy."_

_Hah! I doubt very much whether I'll be getting one, Robert thought, lapsing back into disloyalty with an ease that was worrying._

_Could use it too, on a night as cold as this…_

Robert drifted awake at about six o'clock in the morning and, groaning, got to his feet and stumbled around until he located the water basin by stubbing his toe on it. Remembering that Madame Aubert was most likely sleeping in the next room over, he refrained from howling out a few expletives as he hopped around his small bedroom clutching his foot.

After splashing his face a few times with cold water and struggling into a light brown suit, he felt that he looked civilized enough to go help Mr. Guggenheim get dressed. No time for a shave; he'd slept in much too late for that.

He found Mr. Guggenheim wearing his dressing gown and sitting in the comfortable chair by the bed, reading a book.

"Good morning, sir," Robert said, doing his best to sound alert instead of still half asleep.

_Tea. Must drink cup of tea._

"Good morning, Stratford," Guggenheim said, closing his book and getting to his feet "The white suit today, I believe, with the matching tie."

Robert managed, after a few tries, to get the wardrobe door open and remove the specified clothes.

"Will you be requiring a shave this morning, sir?" he asked, brushing some dust off the suit's lapel.

_Please say no. Please. Because I just know that if I try to do it now, I'll end up getting arrested for cutting an upstanding citizen's throat in cold blood._

"No thank you, Stratford. Just the suit and tie, if you please."

Robert began the long process of helping Mr. Guggenheim into his suit, and a thought struck him.

"Has Madame Aubert already risen, sir?" he asked his employer, and derived that familiar pleasure from watching the expression of slight guilt cross the man's face.

_Discretion, Robert. Remember. It's his own business who he…associates with._

"Yes, she has," Mr. Guggenheim replied, a touch too gruffly to sound natural "Her maid is dressing her in her room."

The whole matter stood between them; an impassable void as wide as the Grand Canyon, as Robert finished twitching the white suit into the proper position.

"Very well, sir," he said, carefully making his tone as light as possible "Would it be all right with you if I have the morning off? I have made arrangements to meet a friend, you see."

Mr. Guggenheim frowned, and his valet could see that he was struggling not to inquire as to whether this 'friend' was female.

_No offence, sir, but are you really in a position to ask that?_

"Well, I suppose you may have until…" there was a pause "Half an hour before dinner."

Half an hour before dinner? That was even more time than Robert had dared hope for!

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," he said, gratefully "If I may, I'll go right now, sir.'

_And it's not just because I'm anxious to see Elizabeth, even though I am. It's because I don't know if I can stand seeing your dear Madame Aubert again, because my memories of Mrs. Guggenheim's kindness to me when I was younger, and the knowledge of exactly what you're doing might just overwhelm both my discretion and my loyalty…_

"Hey, you can't be down here!"

Robert groaned and turned to frown at the crewmember who had stopped his progress . He really didn't have the patience for this, at six forty five in the morning with a cracking headache and so far, no tea.

"Well, obviously I _am_ down here, so that statement is not, in fact, true," he snapped, feeling too wretched for politeness.

"Yeah, well, you'd better turn around and go back to wherever you came from, mate," said the man, pointing back down the way Robert had come.

Robert opened his mouth to say mulishly that nothing was farther from his intentions, and that if the crew member objected he could go to hell, when Elizabeth's voice issued from the open door on his right.

"It's all right, Steven, you can let him in. He's a friend."

Never before had Robert heard more welcome words. He slipped past the crewman, pausing only to give him a triumphant grin, and ducked through the open door and into the room.

The first person he saw was Elizabeth herself, balanced precariously on a chair with her mouth full of nails and a large and dangerous-looking hammer gripped tightly in her hand. From the look of it, she had been engaged in hammering a series of coat pegs into the wall.

If the sight of her engaged in such unusual tasks surprised Robert, it was nothing to the staggering amazement he felt at seeing what she was wearing. Specifically, a pair of rather too large overalls and a baggy cotton shirt, which were both apparently, made for a man, and one several sizes bigger than her, at that. Her hair had been stuffed into a messy braid, which hung over one shoulder.

An assortment of other crew members were sitting around a white painted table, holding mugs tea and watching Elizabeth with a variety of emotions which ranged from admiration to disbelief, to disapproval.

"Hello, Robert,' she said cheerfully, through her mouthful of nails as soon as she saw him "How do I look?"

"Er…" Robert said, aware that he was staring rather rudely at her.

There were a few chuckles from the other occupants of the room, and Henry, who was sitting nearest to Robert, muttered something behind his hand to his friends.

"Odd, I know," Elizabeth said, answering her own question "But one of the boys in the engine room lent these to me, and it seemed like such a shame to risk getting my dress dirty or torn or something."

"Er, should you be doing that?" Robert asked, finding it the safest thing to say. He was finding himself distracted by the fact that despite the eccentricity of her outfit, Elizabeth looked strangely good in it.

"Well, Mr. Andrews was doing it," Elizabeth explained, grinning and spitting the nails into the palm of her hand "But Mary lured him into the other room with a cup of tea and a biscuit, and I decided to try and finish the job before he gets back. Poor man, he does too much around here. Anyway, I'm the self-appointed President In Charge Of Nails and Hammers. You don't look very well, Robert; have you shaved this morning?"

Robert was so startled by this abrupt change of topic that he answered 'no', almost instantly.

"Well, somebody bring him a basin and a razor, all right?" Elizabeth declared to the room at large "It's indecent to go around unshaven."

"You aren't really in a fit position to go on about 'indecent'," Henry commented, never the less bringing over the requested items and laying them on the table "Sit down here, mister."

Robert did so, still somewhat bewildered by the rapidity of events, and no sooner had he settled down in the nearest chair, Anna leaned over and placed a steaming cup of tea at his elbow.

"Bless you," Robert said humbly, already beginning to lather his chin and neck with suds, and everyone else laughed, not unkindly.

"I still say it's bad luck," Henry said, sitting back down and evidently continuing a conversation that had been interrupted by Robert's arrival.

Elizabeth jumped off her chair to give him a pitying look "Don't be stupid," she said, flatly "Women being bad luck onboard ships is nonsense."

"No, Henry's right," a steward who Robert didn't know put in "It's awfully bad luck to let a woman onboard."

"But," Anna explained, to a chorus of laughter from the other stewardesses "There'd be women onboard _anyway_, even if we weren't here. This is a _passenger_ ship."

"Yeah, but it only counts if you have women _working _onboard ship," Henry said quickly, changing tactics "That's the worst luck of all. They cause shipwrecks, see."

Elizabeth coughed something that sounded a lot like 'The Oceana', and the laughter returned as Henry made a face at her. Most of them had heard of the british ship which had sank the previous month, and had certainly had no women working onboard.

Though Robert, by then shaved and enjoying his cup of tea, surmised that Elizabeth and Anna had won the argument, there were apparently no hard feelings held between the two sides, and Henry got up, grinning and patting Anna on the shoulder.

"I'd better get back to work," he said "Tell you what, why don't you give us a speech first, Bessie?"

"Yeah, go on," agreed a few other stewards, and everyone leaned forwards, as if in anticipation.

Elizabeth turned slightly pink but nodded and shot Robert a private grin, rolling her eyes.

"Which one do you want?" she asked, hopping back up onto her chair and facing the room "Woman's Voting Rights? Or Equality Between Classes?"

"Woman's Voting Rights," Anna put in, and indeed, the general consensus seemed to be in favor of that speech.

"Right," Elizabeth said, clearing her throat loudly and slipping her hand between her overalls and her shirt in a manner very reminiscent of Napoleon "Friends! Romans! Countrymen!"

Robert, who had studied enough Shakespeare to understand her reference, smiled into his tea cup, and though many of the others clearly did not, they never the less seemed to be enjoying themselves.

"It is imperative that our noble leaders, worldwide, make the decision to give the right to vote to women. Is it not true that women are indeed human beings? And is it not true that the right of every human being is to have a say in the governing of our countries?"

Watching her speak, Robert noticed that as her confidence grew and her arguments became more eloquent and persuasive, she became startlingly beautiful. The imperfections of her face; the mottled pink birthmark just above her jaw line, the slight unevenness of her eyebrows, the way that one side of her mouth curled up a little more than the other, all seemed to disappear.

He had seen beautiful young ladies promenade past him upon many occasions; their bearings erect and their faces powdered and made up to perfection, but Elizabeth was beautiful in a different way. She was more _alive_, more real.

Most of the men in the room were shaking their heads in an amused, what-will-she-think-of-next fashion, and the other stewardesses were either nodding in approval or looking uncomfortable. Robert felt a surge of irritation that no one was on their feet applauding.

He certainly felt like doing that himself.

Grinning from ear to ear, Henry brought his hands together with the index fingers pointing outwards, as if he was holding a revolver.

"Bang, bang," he said loudly, pointing his 'gun' towards Elizabeth.

"She's been shot!" Steven yelled, also grinning, from his place by the door "Our noble suffragette has been shot in the middle of her speech. Cut down in the prime of life!"

Taking her cue from this, Elizabeth clasped her hands to her chest in a theatrical fashion and staggered sideways off her chair. Robert, out of genuine concern for her well-being, jumped to his feet and caught her seconds before she hit the ground, stumbling slightly under her weight.

This elicited enough cheers and whoops that Robert was surprised that passengers up on the promenade decks didn't start coming around to complain.

"My hero," Elizabeth joked, grinning at Robert, and twisting out of his arms "All right, you lot've had your fun, now you'd better clear off and get back to work."

Muttering appreciatively, the crowd began to disperse, heading out to perform their various duties.

"Shouldn't you go too?" Robert asked Elizabeth, worried that she would say yes.

"No, it's not my shift," she replied, casually "The rest of the girls can manage. Anyway, I didn't invite you all this way just to make you have a shave and subject you to a piece of amateur dramatics."

"Ah," Robert said, feeling a grin begin to spread across his own face "I see. So, what are we going to do?"

Elizabeth laughed, wrinkling her nose as she did so in a way that Robert found quite, well, entrancing. Which was a stupid thing to think.

Really.

"Whatever you want," she said, shrugging.

"Well, how about we have another cup of tea, for a start?


End file.
